


day one: shaky hands

by nctaliaromanova



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Missions, Nightmares, Shaky Hands, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 04:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nctaliaromanova/pseuds/nctaliaromanova
Summary: "old habits die hard, don't they?"





	day one: shaky hands

**Author's Note:**

> day one of whumptober 2019! this ended up being eleven days late since my finals just ended! i hope you'll enjoy this short stevenat fic! always had this idea floating around but never really got around to writing it <3

**↬ DAY 1: SHAKY HANDS**

Natasha nudged open the door, eyes droopy from exhaustion and her hair tousled in a messy bun. Steve followed closely behind, dropping his bags and shield close to the door. “Good to be home,” Steve mumbled, sleep finding its way in his hoarse voice. 

They’d just returned from a three-day mission in Russia. Not surprisingly, the Red Room was involved; which meant that Natasha had to meet a few familiar faces, which also meant that the memories she’d so desperately tried to stuff into the crevasses of her mind had resurfaced. 

As she stepped into the bathroom and let the warm water hit her back, rivulets of dirt and blood appeared on the marble tiles. Apart from the couple of bullet grazes and gashes that stung when the hot water washed over them, there was nothing more comforting than indulging in a hot shower after an otherwise successful mission. 

Just as she’d finished changing into a tank top and shorts, Natasha found Steve waiting for her at the doorway. “Sorry,” she peered into the dark room and found the wall clock striking half past midnight. She’d been in the shower for almost half an hour.

“It’s okay. Get some rest.” Steve gave her a lopsided grin, before stepping in himself, leaving Natasha to nestle under the sheets. 

Quite frankly, it had been an exhausting week for Natasha. A couple of simple missions— nothing that she couldn’t handle— but knowing that they were directly involved with her tortured past made her skin crawl. 

The soft bed beneath offered her respite from the gruelling exertion, but her mind was still racing. Watching her superiors shackle girls to the chair she’d once been made to sit on sent a wave of rage and guilt over her. She remembered seeing a mix of fear and confusion clear in their glassy eyes as she watched them from behind a crate. Then, a lethal mix of fuel and fire engulfed the building as she rushed to pull them out from the inferno. Up till then, everything was going to plan, until she watched as the flames licked at a girl mercilessly. The last memory Natasha had of her was the helpless scream that tore through the acrid smoke in the Russian warehouse. 

Far too lost in her thoughts, Steve had clambered onto the bed next to Natasha without her realising. His actions were slow and silent, careful not to wake Natasha up. However, she was far from the grasps of sleep, her brain going into overdrive and her head pounding from the excessive fumes she’d accidentally inhaled. 

Steve turned towards Natasha, their faces merely inches apart. Through hooded lids, she watched as Steve stared at her, presuming that she was asleep. When he finally closed his eyes and went under, Natasha exhaled. 

With a hand on the handle of the bedside drawer, she wavered, contemplating her actions. She hadn’t done this in a long time, not since S.H.I.E.L.D first recruited her, not since she’d forced herself to break the habit. However, this particular mission struck a chord in her, and she found herself sliding the drawer open, reaching in to carefully fish out a pair of handcuffs. 

As she locked one end onto the bedpost above her, she lifted her left hand to clamp the other end shut around her right wrist. Her hands shook within the metal cuffs; in fear or hesitation, Natasha didn’t know. Leaving the key on the table, she fell back onto the bed in defeat, making a silent prayer and hoping that the night would pass quickly.

↬

_ The cuffing started as soon as they’d been recruited into the programme. They cuffed all 28 girls to their bedposts wordlessly. No explanation. No questioning. Just 28 young girls shackled unforgivingly by the wrists. _

_ They were taught how to unlock handcuffs, ironically, but the girls were smarter than what people would think. Knowing that the handcuffs were meant to keep them loyal to the KGB, they never once attempted to escape. Even having learnt how to unlock the metal cuffs with both hands bound, or twisting a bobby pin into a key, none of the girls tried. _

_ One girl did, however. She returned the night after, burns adorning the circumference of both wrists, raw and untreated. Above the melodious suite of Swan Lake playing from the grand piano in the corner, a howl of pain emanating down the hallway pierced through the dance studio. _

↬

Natasha bolted upright, her back painfully arching off the bed while her wrist strained against the sharp cuffs. She fell back onto the sheets, the handcuffs rendering her partially immobile. As she struggled to slip her hands out of the cuffs, the sound of metal on metal alerted a certain someone resting next to her. Steve had enhanced hearing which would normally be an advantage, but not to Natasha in this case.

As she scrambled for the key on the bedside table, she felt a shift in the mattress. The key fell from her grasp and landed on the carpet beneath, earning a soft groan on her part. Sitting up against the headboard, she willed herself to keep her composure, especially in front of Steve.

“‘Nat?” He muttered, exhaustion evident in his tone but widening his eyes as he sat up slowly. He was certain that he’d heard the sound of metal, and metal could never be a good sign. 

“Go back to sleep,” Natasha stated curtly, turning away from him and feigning sleep.

Steve noticed that she was still sitting straight up, so his gaze trailed upwards to the glint of metal softly reflecting light into his eyes. His eyes landed on a metal loop locked onto the bed frame, coupled with a chain attached which disappeared behind Natasha’s now trembling frame. Steve picked up on how her shoulders quivered ever so slightly, even in the dark. 

↬

_ “Natasha,” Steve picked up the handcuffs and stalked over to her on the couch, questioning, “What are these?” _

_ A hard glare by Natasha herself was enough to make Steve raise his arms in defeat, retreating out of the room as he dropped the handcuffs back into her drawer, never once questioning about them again. _

↬

Natasha had her back turned towards Steve, nearly on the verge of sobbing. The events of the nightmare continued flashing in her mind like a broken, neon bulb, and with Steve questioning her, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep her cool. 

Her throat ached painfully against the sobs she was so desperately trying to suppress, shoulders now jerking up and down as she inhaled and exhaled sharply. Natasha knew that it wouldn’t be long till Steve spoke up, so she broke the uncomfortable tension first.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” She heaved out, shoulders dipping slightly as Steve watched her curl in on herself even further.

He knew that asking her about the handcuffs around her wrist would be the least helpful thing to do in the moment, so he resorted to jumping straight into safety. “You might hurt yourself.” Steve whispered in reply, careful to avoid dwelling into the reason behind her actions.

As she reached down to grab the key off the floor, she clicked them into place, releasing her wrist and dropping the metal shackles onto the table beside her bed. Natasha slowly turned to face Steve, her cheeks now evidently wet with tears.

“Rough mission,” she explained, rubbing at her sore, chafed wrists. “Old habits die hard, don’t they?”

“Old habits?” Steve pondered, wondering why Natasha would’ve developed a habit of handcuffing herself. 

“The Red Room. One of the few things they did every night; meant to keep us in check.” Natasha stated bluntly, rolling over to lie on her back. Tears leaked out, spilling down her cheeks and onto the pillow beneath her; but Natasha wouldn’t let Steve know about it, instead opting to wipe her arm deftly across her cheek. Natasha hated being so vulnerable in front of Steve, but she knew there was no way she could’ve kept everything in; even if she was the toughest and strongest Avenger of the bunch. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheek, now damp and streaky with tears. 

“It’s okay.” 

Steve reached out to ghost his fingers over Natasha’s wrists, carefully watching her for any signs of alarm. As the tips of his fingers made contact with the grazed skin, Natasha flinched slightly, before relaxing under his touch, a watery smile making its way onto her well-worn face. 

“I’ll be okay, get some rest.” She breathed, pulling the sheets higher over herself as she closed her eyes dutifully. Steve watched on as she drifted off, her expressions softening into a neutral one. 

However, as he watched on for a few more minutes, wanting to make sure that she’d be soundly asleep without encountering any more terrors, he noticed how her fingers were quivering lightly against the sheets, almost as if she was full of fear. 

Wordlessly, Steve gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists and held them in his grasp— firm enough to resemble cuffs but gentle enough to give her a sense of security. She fluttered her lids open a fraction, peering down to find Steve’s hand wrapped around hers. 

“Thank you,” she mouthed, before shifting herself closer to Steve, softening under his touch and her hands no longer shaking. 

↬  



End file.
